


in a golden ballroom with him

by nayt0reprince



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Dancing, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, some gay crap be happening in this arby's tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: after the dreadfully long war, all became peaceful and calm - yet lukas never felt his heart more rattled in his life.





	in a golden ballroom with him

**Author's Note:**

> now i know what you’re thinking: “this can’t possibly work???” alas, poor yorrick, as i sat here contemplating impossibilities at 11PM such as me liking avocados and keeping a consistent sleep schedule, i was like, “then let’s make it work!” and so i present unto y’all: lukas/conrad. lemme know what u think!

In the face of a maddened god, Lukas - polished, sharpened lance in one hand, heavy, dented shield in the other, and experience from battling fleshy, nightmarish amalgamations to dead-eyed, soulless witches in both - simply sucked in a deep breath, counted down from five to clear his mind, and smiled at the pleasant thrum of adrenaline that, at long last, seeped into his veins. It tingled beneath his skin, and he wondered if this was what the average person felt like when taking to the battlefield. 

“Now _this,_ ” he mused aloud, “is exciting.”

Alm shot him a look. Lukas cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the poisonous mire before them. Perhaps now, when staring down a horde of floating, gangly eyeballs and twisted servants for Lord Duma, was not the best time to make such remarks. Definitely not in the face of possible, imminent destruction and demise, either, given the stakes. Still, he needed to say it; otherwise, the feeling may not have been real at all. Someone aside from himself needed to at least hear (he didn’t expect anyone to _understand_ ) this monumental moment of fleeting normalcy. 

He thought nothing else would compare to that feeling. He thought, as his legs sunk deep into putrid waters, as he vanished and reappeared in the midst of an enemy horde, as he slaughtered and impaled countless mindless creatures, as he watched Alm and Celica slay Lord Duma once and for all, that after this, nothing _could_ compare. 

And yet.

*

Afternoon dipped into dusk, splashing the skies an orange hue over the newfound One Kingdom’s castle. The last vestiges of sunlight streamed through the windows, splashing amber across the main hall’s stony floors. Lukas kept having to look away any time a dress adorned with glitter crossed paths with the light, glinting brightly right into his eyes. The coronation of King Alm and Queen Celica long-since concluded, and festivities - like dancing - filled the once-dismal kingdom with life. Minstrels were tucked away in one corner, alternating between slow serenades and upbeat jingles that got everyone’s toes tapping. Towards the middle, His Majesty Alm danced with Her Majesty Celica to every song, despite both their faces bleating red. Their smiles never took a break, either.

Charming, Lukas thought, and took a sip of his wine. He leaned back against one of the main hall’s pillars, internally chastising himself for being lazy (and promptly dismissing it thereafter, as he somewhat deserved to relax a little, having seen a war to its end). He spotted Sir Clive hand-in-hand with Lady Mathilda; noticed a spunky, rose-haired lady leading a flustered, out-of-place man into the fray; watched the poor, heartbroken Faye sulk out of the hall entirely; witnessed (he rubbed his eyes to make sure it actually happened) _Python,_ of all people, be asked to dance by some noblewoman. He took another sip, only to realize his glass was already empty. His brow furrowed.

“Why the long face?” Python, having sauntered away from his potential dance-partner, slithered up from behind and clapped a hand against Lukas’s shoulder. “C’mon, Lukey-boo, get out there and _enjoy_ yourself once in awhile, won’tcha?”

 _Lukey-boo?_ That was a new one. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m quite surprised you are not doing so yourself.”

“You kiddin’ me? I’ve already beat Forsyth in a drinking contest, and I’m not even wasted yet. This wine’s kid-stuff, if you ask me.” Python smirked, then yawned. “‘Sides, actually dancing requires, you know, _effort._ I already used enough of that fighting. I just wanna nap, but Mila forbid I leave before Forsyth does. I’d get an earful first thing tomorrow morning, and the _last_ thing I want is a lecture during my inevitable hangover.” He pushed against Lukas’s shoulder again. “C’mon, _c’mon._ Go dance with a pretty woman, chat up someone fine. Stop lookin’ like the palace guard when it’s not even your job.”

“It very may well be in the future, depending on what Al--His Majesty Alm has to offer.” Lukas toyed with the ridiculous silver fringe along the bottom of his dress shirt. The clothes were stifling and tight, even worse than armor. At least armor had a purpose in being constricting. He unfastened the top button. “If you’re so keen on courting, please, do not let me stop you. I’d try approaching her with two stable feet, however.”

“You are _no_ fun,” Python muttered, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop twistin’ your arm. Just don’t say I didn’t try.”

“That’s a first for you, isn’t it?”

“Hey. _Hey._ ” Python, appearing miffed, waggled his forefinger in front of Lukas’s face. “I got into the Deliverance, didn’t I? So it’s a _second._ ”

Lukas spared him a chuckle. “Go on. I’m certain Forsyth will come looking for you before long to spoil your fun, as you so often say.”

“He’s _such_ a _whiner,_ ” Python drawled. He waved his hand in some untranslatable gesture before sauntering off. Lukas sighed and peered into his empty glass. A nap indeed - he could very well use one himself. Perhaps he--

“Your friend seems funny.”

Goodness, he was popular today. Lukas stilled, and then turned his head towards his newest conversation partner. In the twilight, the young man’s hair shimmered a reddish-gold as though lit aflame. The color jostled a memory or two (one, a girl from his hometown, one with freckles and short, auburn hair who gifted him flowers, one he felt a little fond of but could never quite feel affection towards; two, a man donned in white armor and a mask upon a horse in the final battle, bellowing voice commanding authority - neither of these were this fellow, and yet), causing Lukas to pause. He blinked, then straightened his back and returned his attention to the ballroom after realizing how rude it seemed to stare. 

“He’s a character, yes,” Lukas allowed, eying him. Does he know this man?

“He even tried to chat-up Her Majesty earlier today,” the young man continued, smiling a little (exposing his dimples, which, Lukas surmised, would possibly win over many a lady’s heart). “It’s amazing what sort of army His Majesty put together compared to Anth--er--Her Majesty’s. Full of interesting people. Just goes to show you that even a so-called ‘peasant’ can accomplish anything, huh?”

The rhetorical question lacked any typical lordly disdain toward lower classes. Lukas hummed in approval, waved down a ballroom attendant, and set his empty glass upon the silver platter. 

“I’m sure if you are close to her, you needn’t continue with such formal titles.”

“Oh.” The young man scratched at his cheek and let out a sheepish laugh. “True. I suppose she wouldn’t like that, either.”

“I apologize.” Lukas clasped his hands behind his back. The music’s tempo slowed. “You seem familiar with me, but I don’t think I have any recollection of your name.”

The young man did a double-take. “Oh! I’m sorry. I am Conrad, Antheise’s brother.” He extended a hand. “And you are Lukas. I heard of your exploits from others in the Deliverance, and I thought I would introduce myself. We met briefly once before, though we didn’t exchange any words, given how we were busy fighting Duma. I guess I kind of skipped introductions and went straight into smalltalk.”

Conrad. Lukas ruminated on the name, grasping his hand and shaking it briefly. Conrad. Was there a Conrad? Not in the Deliverance; no name on his memorized roster matched. He must have been with Celica’s army, then. 

“Quite alright. I’m surprised you heard of and recognized me.”

“It’s hard to forget the term ‘ginger stud,’ I’m afraid. Uh - not that I mean to insult you!” Conrad ran a hand through his own hair. “I just mean that’s how I - never mind. Please forget I said that. But I heard that you were quite respected in the army, and how cool and collected you were at all times.” His brown eyes lit up. “I aspire to be more like that, for my sister’s sake. She thinks I’m cooler behind my mask and everything.”

Mask. Lukas swallowed down his surprise. This man - an earnest, seemingly sensitive person - was that mysterious white knight? _Fascinating._ He shook his head. “I’m afraid they boast my accomplishments. All of our achievements really belong to His Majesty Alm and his leadership. Without him, none of us would be here.”

“Add ‘modesty’ to the list, too.” Conrad hid a laugh behind his hand. “Is that why you haven’t taken a lady’s hand to the dance floor? Do you think your steps to be awkward like a newborn mule’s?”

“I wouldn’t quite use those terms, but dancing is not my strongest suit, no.”

“Neither am I.” Conrad made a thoughtful sound before his smile widened. “I have an idea.”

“If it is to assist me in asking someone to dance, then I’m afraid I will have to d--”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was going to say _we_ should dance.”

Both of Lukas’s eyebrows raised. “Beg your pardon?”

“We both deem ourselves terrible dancers, right? I’m sure there’s going to inevitably be a time where we can’t avoid _having_ to dance, given our positions. Think of it as practice.”

“Practice,” Lukas echoed.

“Yes.”

“In front of over a hundred people in confined quarters where they can see us flounder about like fools. Sounds like an excellent plan, Conrad.”

“Hey, I never said it was _excellent._ Besides, everyone’s so wrapped up with each other that they won’t even notice us. And it’s a slow-section. We don’t even have to work ourselves into a frenzy.” Conrad hesitated, then offered a hand to Lukas. “What do you think? Of course you can decline, but I thought - as comrades - we could help each other out as a bonding experience. Or something.”

It was absolutely asinine. Lukas could think of at least twenty reasons why this was a terrible idea (his aching feet from standing being nineteen of them). However, despite all logical reasoning, that hesitant smile, that possibly sweaty hand, and that little head tilt awaiting approval or rejection spurred him to abandon post from the pillar and accepted. Why, he did not know, nor could explain. Yet something _tugged_ at his chest to go with him, at least for one dance, just to satisfy some worming curiosity. Or maybe it was simply to stop women from approaching him further. Either way. 

Wedged between throngs of guests, Conrad stepped off to the side, and turned to face Lukas. The candlelight caught on his metal buttons. Lukas licked his lips.

“Very well. Now what?”

“Well, since I am taller than you, I think I’ll take the lead.”

Lukas blinked. “In this instance, I would think _age_ would be a more appropriate determining factor - especially since you are only about one inch taller.”

“Oh? And how old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five!” Conrad pursed his lips. “Well then, I am twenty- _six._ ”

“You may wish to work on your lying capabilities and not just your dancing.” Lukas caught himself smiling and looked away. “You don’t look a day older than twenty-three, I’m afraid.”

“Hey now, I’m probably dashing enough to pull off twenty-four, I assure you.” Conrad grinned childishly before raising his hands in defeat. “But you caught me. I’m twenty-two. Lead on, my lord.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“ _Hey._ ”

Imitating other dancers, Lukas placed his hands tentatively on Conrad’s hips. For a brief moment, he wondered if two males dancing together was frowned upon, but had his questions answered upon noticing some purple-haired man draped all over another with no one else really caring or paying them any heed. Well. Conrad followed suit, resting his palms upon Lukas’s shoulders, suddenly looking unsure.

“When I say I’m bad at this, I mean it,” he confessed, looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry if I step on your toes ahead of time.”

“Heavens forbid should you bruise my pinky toe,” Lukas calmly replied, stepping forward, then back, then forward - _one two three, one two three_ \- in cadence with the music. Piano washed over the chatter, softening the buzz of conversation, and one of the female minstrels began to sing. Her voice rang clear even in the highest of her notes. She must have worked tirelessly to reach such levels. 

_The seasons, they turn - summer to fall -_

Conrad was right; he _was_ a terrible dancer. Lukas found himself guiding Conrad more often than not, steering him away from misstep after misstep. Their talk lulled while Conrad, brows knitting together, seemed to try to memorize the patterns. Forward, backward. In, out. 

_Time’s warm embrace - begins to heal all -_

“And you said you weren’t good at this?” Conrad interjected, keeping his voice low.

“Perfectly average. I never said I was _awful._ ”

“You know, when they said you were ‘calm and collected,’ I never thought you’d be one to crack jokes.” He grinned - and then winced when his shoe knocked against Lukas’s for the fourth time. He mumbled another apology, then said, “I take it back. _You’re_ the funny one, not your friend.”

“I suppose we both have our own laughable merits.” He believed it to be the fault of the wine, but his face flushed warm, like winter exposed to a spring morning’s thaw. Conrad, blessedly, seemed unaware. Lukas shifted his hands a little lower, thumbs accidentally catching on Conrad’s belt loops. 

The song reached its crescendo, and Lukas, despite better judgment, glanced up. Conrad smiled down back at him, head tilted ever so slightly, as if waiting for Lukas to say something. The only word that fumbled out of his drunken tongue was an eloquent “Um” that started a chain reaction which could never be rectified, even _with_ the assistance of Mother Mila’s wondrous turnwheel. 

First, his eyes widened, followed by his lips gaping open like a hooked fish. Then, his skin burned, reddening his cheeks and ears. Words turned to mush, and his throat grew parched, as if he ate all the sand from a desert. He needed another drink. He stepped wrong, square onto Conrad’s foot, who let out a startled yelp of surprise before breaking out into a laughing fit.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just,” Conrad released one shoulder to wipe tears forming in his eyes, “you look so _shocked_ at yourself _,_ it’s like staring at a baby sheep!”

And his laugh. Oh, his laugh. Lukas’s skin prickled from how endearing it sounded. What _was_ this? He jerked his head away to look at his own feet, trying to remember the familiar, calming rhythm - _one two, one two three four, one, one two? one two one two thump thump_ his chest ached with uncertainty - only to stumble again. Conrad caught him, laughter fading into concern.

“Are you alright? You’ve suddenly been losing your balance...”

The song ended, and they stopped. A faster song picked up, but they remained still as Lukas tried to regulate his pounding heart, his shortened breaths. Surely this wasn’t what he thought it was. Of course, he didn’t know what “it” felt like, having lukewarm emotions barely surfacing and causing ripples on his reserved facade. And yet. He pulled his hands away, and tried to look anywhere else. 

“I’m simply tired,” he answered, but his voice came out raspy. He coughed. “I must have overdone it. Thank you for the experience, I had quite a lovely time, but I believe I should go retire for the evening.”

“Lovely?” Conrad’s grip tightened on Lukas’s shoulders. “Um - are you sure you can make it back by yourself? Let me walk you to your quarters at least.”

“That - that won’t be necessary.” Lukas managed a smile - shoot, he needed to stop _looking_ at him, it just made the sensation all the more unpleasant - before stepping back. Conrad’s arms fell back to his sides. “Please, do enjoy the rest of your night, Conrad.”

“Wait!” Conrad’s expression shifted from concern to a mixture of alarm and confusion. “Are - are you sure? You’re suddenly acting strange. I just want to make sure you’re okay, Lukas.”

 _And whose fault is that?_ he almost asked, but bit down on his tongue. His name rang nicely off Conrad’s tongue. Whatever this was, it needed to stop. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, counted down from five to clear his mind, and in the midst of his clarity, his own consciousness whispered, _Gods, you’ve become smitten for a stranger over a simple dance._

“Now this,” he mumbled, “is frightening.”

“Huh?”

“Please excuse me for now, Conrad.” He tried - failed - to bring about a reassuring smile. “Can we maybe talk another time in the future? When I’m less tired?”

Conrad hesitated, still clearly fretting over something that he really ought not concern himself with, but relented. “Sure,” he replied, “yes. Uh, we can resume lessons maybe another time? Since,” he pinched a lock of his fluffy hair between his thumb and forefinger, averting his eyes, and if Lukas didn’t know any better, his face seemed a little more red, “since we both seem a little rusty at this?”

Gods. Gods, was he asking to see Lukas again? Where was Python to help him decipher this nonsense? (“Don’t stress yourself out, stud,” he heard his impersonation of Python blabber, “just go with the flow and what feels _right,_ y’know? Also, your shoe’s untied. Don’t trip on your way out.”) He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, and, against his shrieking flight instincts kicking in, traversed into uncharted waters by answering,

“Certainly.”

Conrad - if at all possible - appeared to light up the room with his relieved smile. “Oh! Oh. Okay, then. Maybe - maybe sometime this week? I’ll write to you. A time, I mean, that might work for both of us. And a place. Or you can, either way.”

At least Lukas didn’t seem to be the only one struggling with this mess. He nodded curtly. “Please do. I look forward to it. Goodnight, Conrad.”

“Goodnight, Lukas.”

Python was wrong. Clearly, the ginger stud wasn’t himself, but rather the dork staring after him as Lukas ducked out of the castle and wandered into the much-needed, refreshing outdoors. What did he just say? Why did he agree to that? And more importantly, why did his heart keep pounding? Confusing as it was, it simply felt _right_ and even _good._

He brought a hand to his lips to cover up a wide grin.

Oh, well. Duma’s demise would have to take second place for “most heart-pounding moment” in Lukas’s lifetime. 

He tried to look dignified and not like a fool on his way back to his chambers - even after tripping over his own shoelaces. 

*

The letter came two days later, sealed with wax and donning almost illegible writing. Lukas squinted at it with great care, trying to derive words from the ink-blotted mess on the poor piece of parchment, before snorting and shaking his head. For someone who had great skill in battle, his penmanship could use some work. Perhaps that could be another lesson for another time.

He picked up a piece of paper and wrote a reply:

_To Conrad,_

_I would be delighted to join you tomorrow. Could we push it to six? I have a few important matters to take care of, but afterward, you will have my undivided attention._

_Yours,_

_Lukas_

He sealed the letter, then, with a whistle, put it into his pocket. 

The new era of peace looked promising, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu for more schmoopy nonsense @nayt0reprince on twitter if u want


End file.
